It was my daughter’s birthday today. Of course, we celebrated in all the usual ways. Presents, dinner, cake. No one was amused, however, when I questioned the reasoning for celebrating one’s birthday. I mean…what part do we all play in being born? Two people, not us, get the ball rolling by having unprotected sex. What eventually becomes us grows inside the woman of the randy couple and sometimes makes her sick in the morning. Over the course of nine months or so, we sprout more stuff, float, turn, suck in nutrients from the mom-to-be and basically live off the gland.
At some point the party’s over. The mom starts dilating and having contractions, screams at the dad and everyone lands in the hospital…if they’re lucky.
Around this time the couple is thinking they shouldn’t have finished off that bottle of wine 9 months prior, which clouded their judgement and contributed to the fix they’re in right now. Meanwhile, the wet package of protoplasm is getting ready to be born, which means, being squeezed through an opening, head first, that’s tighter, as we used to say in radio, than a bull’s ass in fly season.
Finally, daylight! Unborn kid is born, everyone checks the calendar and boom! It’s the kid’s birthday! Now every year on this day people will make a fuss, give presents and say “happy birthday!” A party might be held and a cake with flaming sticks of wax will be eaten, but not before the birthday kid extinguishes the fire by blowing on a perfectly clean cake that’s now a sugary bacteria medium. All this for having lollygagged in the warmth of mom’s belly for nine months and then getting tossed out on your head and being slapped on the butt.
Yes, the human race does have its odd customs but yet I’d feel said if my birthday came and went without notice…but especially if it came and went without cake.